Everdeen
by Suki59
Summary: Katniss explains the end of the war and what happened to her afterwards in this new ending to the series. Gale fans, this is for you. Please also enjoy Everdeen's sequel, Gale, written from Gale's POV.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Those of you who know me, know I generally write for Charlaine Harris's Southern Vampire Mysteries. However, I recently read The Hunger Games series and loved it. I adore Suzanne Collins's work, but I wished for a different ending. And so, here it is. **

**I don't own these characters or this universe. **

Today, District 12 changed its name to Everdeen. When the name appeared on the ballot, I almost objected. The days of my being the Mockingjay are far behind me, and I have no desire to be a leader, even here in my own district. But then I thought of my mother and Prim. Aren't they both Everdeens as well? And haven't they contributed more to this community than I have? And of course, my father lost his life in the mines here. So, I said nothing and considered it an honor for my whole family—not just me, the least deserving of us all.

Several of the districts have already changed their names from the impersonal numerals to more meaningful names, even if the nation's name lacks any kind of imagination. The United Districts Republic was born the day President Snow lost his life, even though technically, it took a little time to work out the first kinks. We're still working them out, come to think of it. Forming a new government takes time. It's messy and bumpy and imperfect, but it's ours now, and that's the most important thing.

I wasn't terribly thrilled when President Coin stepped into the shoes vacated by Snow, even though we knew it was temporary. I was never a fan. And I was happy to see her go after that first election. Now she's just a private citizen with no more power or status than I have. And of course, I'm very pleased with our current choice for president, Peeta Mellark.

I always knew Peeta would be a natural leader with his way with words—his ability to move a crowd. And his heart is as pure and honest as they come. He's the opposite of Snow.

It's hard to believe now, but of course, there was a time I was afraid of Peeta. In the first Hunger Games. And then after he'd been hijacked. It was tough for me to remove his handcuffs and load his weapon with live ammunition that day in our hiding place in Tigris's store. I knew he could kill me in a confused moment, but then I knew my time was running out anyway, and I couldn't live with the thought of his being captured or killed, unable to defend himself just because of my fear.

We all set out that day afraid. Even though we were mere blocks from our mission, the likelihood that we'd all survive the day was dim. We had to leave Finnick behind in Tigris's care, sparing our first aid supplies so she could tend to the very deep wounds on both legs. It was a miracle we were able to pull him from the clutches of the mutts beneath the city.

After that, it was just Pollux, Gale, Cressida, Peeta, Finnick and me. Gale was badly wounded with a neck bite and Finnick couldn't walk with both calves chewed up.

On our short but terrifying walk to the City Circle, I lost everyone. Pollux and Cressida were ahead of me somewhere in the sea of people. Peeta was behind me, also out of sight. And Gale was captured, saved by the collapsing street pod only to be dragged away by Peacekeepers, begging me to shoot him before he disappeared.

I was sickened by the thought that Gale was likely dead or worse and equally disturbed that I wished I could have killed him. I marched forward in the freezing weather, determined to kill my last human being—President Snow.

Since becoming a tribute in the first Hunger Games, I had become numb to killing, and I hated that about myself. I knew that once I'd killed Snow, I'd likely be killed myself and I deserved it. Snow and the Hunger Games had made me a monster, and I saw no way for me to have a life beyond that. Redemption was an impossibility.

As I approached the president's mansion, I saw a rectangular barricade surrounding the entrance, holding a crowd of children. I realized that Snow had placed this human barrier in front of the mansion in a coward's protection.

Suddenly, rebel troops began to appear from several directions. The crowds of citizens dispersed to let them through and as the space cleared a bit, I could see beyond the barricade to the front steps of the mansion and my heart nearly burst at the sight of dozens of rebel soldiers swarming all over the building.

We'd taken the Capitol.

The children were herded away, and I made a beeline up to the front door. I removed the scarf over my face and drew back my cloak so my weapon was in view, and I passed into the building unquestioned.

I came to Pollux and Cressida almost immediately, and they gave me a nod and a look of relief.

"Glad you made it," Cressida said. "We've just been cleared."

I had no idea who could have "cleared" us, but didn't argue as I followed them down a hallway and up a grand staircase.

I started to remove my layers of clothing. Pollux took the clothes from me and I removed my wig and handed it over as well. I wondered what kind of ridiculous makeup I might be wearing, but didn't want to take the time to clean my face.

When we came to the third floor, we started down another hallway, and as we rounded a corner, I saw soldiers guarding a double door. Paylor was standing with them.

She nodded and simply said, "You have five minutes."

The soldiers stepped aside and opened the doors to allow me to enter. The smell hit me right away and I fought a wave of nausea.

Snow was sitting in a wing chair with his legs crossed. He could have been just comfortably resting in a chair except for the handcuffs. I took a quick glance around the room. Every surface was covered with vases of roses. There was a bloodstained handkerchief in his hand.

"Miss Everdeen," he said with a smile.

I heard the doors close behind me and I drew my weapon, aiming an arrow at his heart.

"I was hoping to see you here," he said.

This is it, I thought—what I've been waiting for, hoping for. I finally get to kill Snow.

He just kept smiling and I heard the beating of my heart in my ears. My hands began to shake. The rage filled me. I thought of how this man had ruined lives, manipulated a nation, killed countless people. And then I thought of what he'd done to Peeta.

"I understand how you feel," he said. "The satisfaction you crave."

I felt beads of perspiration form on my upper lip.

"We're not so different, you and I," he added with a sigh.

It was at that moment I knew I couldn't do it. Because I knew that yes, I _was_ like him. He'd made me like him—a ruthless killer. Driven to destroy. I hated what he'd made me—what he'd made us all, and I knew if I let my arrow fly, I'd never be able to regain my humanity. Even if I only lived a moment longer, I was ruined. I had become the same as Snow.

I lowered my weapon. Snow raised his eyebrows in question and cocked his head, still smiling.

And then he was on his feet and lunging forward faster than I could track. I took a step back in shock and sensed something behind me just as I heard the gunshot.

The smile left Snow's eyes as soon as the bloody hole appeared on his forehead. He slumped to the floor, clearly dead.

I turned around to see who'd shot him—and who'd saved me. And of course, one last time, it was Peeta.


	2. Chapter 2

I wanted to go home. I was tired of being strong, of being driven, of wanting to kill someone. I longed for peace and for the comfort of my life back home. No, it had never been exactly peaceful, knowing we were all at risk of starvation or arrest. And, of course, there was always the reaping looming over us. But it was what I knew. I knew how to feel normal there surrounded by family and friends, hunting side by side with Gale, feeling a part of a community. And not being the Mockingjay. I was tired of being the Mockingjay.

We had a final filming in front of the president's mansion so the people of the Capitol could see that the war was over. This time, Peeta did the talking. He was always better at it than I was anyway. I just stood by his side so everyone would know I was alive. I was happy to give up that spotlight and let Peeta take my place.

When it was over, he turned to me and whispered, "It's over. Real or not real?"

"Real," I replied.

Neither of us smiled, but held each other's gaze with tears in our eyes. It was finally over.

I stayed in the Capitol searching for Gale, but never found him. I did find Finnick in a field hospital. He'd lost one leg, but they had saved the other. He'd have a false limb like Peeta's, but he was alive. Annie wanted to come and join him, but he sent her back to District 4 to wait for him. She was expecting a baby, and he didn't want her exposed to the chaos of the Capitol, but rather safe in the company of their friends and family back home.

Haymitch joined us in the Capitol, as did Plutarch and Beetee. Beetee and Plutarch were instrumental in removing or neutralizing all the pods. All the remaining mutts were humanely destroyed.

I followed orders and did what I was told, but my job was essentially done. As more time passed and Gale's fate became more certain, I began to fall into a depression.

Finally, one day, Haymitch came to me and said, "How would you like to go home?"

I just said, "Please," and hoped he saw the depth of my gratitude in my face.

District 12 was being rebuilt, as were many parts of the nation. The devastation there was among the worst though. Our entire town had been destroyed.

Haymitch and I returned together and found we had many new neighbors in Victor's Village. Families had been moved into the empty homes who had lost their homes and wished to return. There was no longer a need to keep the houses vacant waiting for victors because thankfully, there would never be more victors. Peeta and I would be the last.

The military had set up camps on the outskirts of town and several neighboring districts had sent equipment and teams of architects and builders as well as supplies.

Finally, I had a job that I found worthwhile. Every day Haymitch and I would report to town and go to work. I put my heart into whatever I was assigned to do and exhausted myself every day, happy to be devoting my time and effort to building rather than destroying.

Many of the original families from District 12 returned, and they were joined by other families—mostly from 13. Even though our town was in ruins, many people from 13 preferred the open fresh air to the confinement of underground living, and we welcomed them.

Once the school was rebuilt, my mother sent Prim home to live with me. My mother remained in a hospital in District 2, treating the people still recovering from their wounds incurred by the collapsing mountain.

I stayed out of the woods, knowing being there would just make it harder. I mourned Gale every day. I saw his face everywhere, even though very little of the town was recognizable. But I often passed by what was once his home and on those days, I'd try to work harder and longer, exhausting myself so I'd be able to sleep that night without dreaming of him—of seeing him being dragged away as he begged me to shoot him. I tried not to think of the many ways he might have died, but I failed. After all I'd been through, his loss was the hardest to bear.

Every month when I received my victor's money, I sent my promised portion to District 11 for Rue's and Thresh's families, saved a little for our needs at home and to set aside for Prim, and I gave the rest to the rebuilding effort. It seemed fitting to me, and felt better than keeping it.

I came home from work one evening and found Peeta planting rose bushes around my house. I was hit by a wave of emotion. I was happy to see him and had missed him terribly, but I was also still afraid of him, remembering his fragile mental state.

He stopped digging when I approached him, sat back on his heels and looked up at me with a smile.

"I didn't want you to go through life hating roses, so I thought I'd give you some to start happy memories with," he said.

He always knew the right thing to say.

"Welcome home," I replied and reached down to him. He pulled off his work glove and squeezed my hand.

Then I went inside and fixed dinner for us.

We became a sort of family—Peeta, Haymitch, Prim and I. While Prim was in school, the rest of us worked in town every day. We all ate our meals together in my kitchen, and spent hours playing Peeta's "real or not real" game, helping him piece his mind back together.

With Peeta home, I began to feel strong enough to hunt again. Rather than feeling the loss of Gale, I finally was able to find moments of comfort as I remembered him. Sometimes, I'd forget he was gone and feel him at my back, protecting me as I hunted, and in those moments, I came close to finally feeling myself again.

One night after Prim had gone to bed, Haymitch went home, leaving me and Peeta alone sitting in my living room. We continued our game of "real or not real," but with no one else present, it became more personal.

Peeta asked, "You fell in love with me in the first Hunger Games. Real or not real?"

I almost said, "Real," but stopped and thought for a moment. No one was watching except Peeta. I owed us both the truth.

I finally looked into his face and said, "I'm not sure. Real, I think."

He nodded and said, "I loved you before the Games. Real or not real?"

"I don't know. Real?"

"Yes," he said and seemed to be searching his memory. "Real."

I thought of the lies he'd told the audience while on stage—that we'd secretly married and that I was pregnant. He told those lies to protect us—to try and give us an edge that would save our lives. Had he done the same that first time? When he confessed that the girl he loved was me? That began the whole star-crossed lovers thing. But was it real or not real?

"Katniss," he said, "if we had never become tributes, had just stayed home and had normal lives, would you have fallen in love with me?"

What a question. And, of course, I didn't really know the answer. "I don't know. I can't honestly imagine what would have happened to me. You're certainly a wonderful person—very lovable."

He smiled.

I went on, "But I had no interest in romance. My life revolved around keeping my family from starving. I knew I'd never want to get married or have children because of the reaping. So, no, I don't believe I would have allowed myself those feelings. Not for you, or even …." I stopped myself.

"Gale," he finished for me.

I nodded. "No, not for anyone."

That night, when I was alone in my bed, I thought about the first Hunger Games, but not about the fear or the pain or the killing—about how I felt about Peeta. I wasn't certain then, of course, that his feelings were genuine, but what did I feel? I learned to feel gratitude when I realized he had fought Cato to protect me. I cared for him and discovered that when I showed him affection, I was rewarded with a gift from Haymitch. And then, I became determined to save him because I recognized my debt to him-what I felt was my duty.

I never even had a chance to examine my feelings deep down. I was bent on surviving and saving Peeta, and to do that, I had to show that I returned his love. And so that's what I did. I tried to imagine the removal of the motives I had—gratitude, guilt, survival. Had I been home and never chosen to go to the Games, and had Peeta told me he cared for me, would I have loved him? No, I don't think so. And why not? Gale. I loved Gale. No, of course, we never spoke of it or showed it, but in my heart, he was mine and I was his.

Circumstances—bizarre, brutal, horrific circumstances were what my love for Peeta were born from. Not the natural progression of love, but a distorted, confusing, mutation of love-one nourished by false, manufactured, and gruesome circumstances. I heard Snow's voice in my mind: "_Convince_ me." And so I'd tried my best.

I showed the world that I loved Peeta to save us both, and occasionally, I actually felt it in a kiss, but then who wouldn't? Peeta was the kindest, truest person I knew. He was completely lovable. I remembered what Haymitch had said to me: "_You could do a lot worse_." Pretending to love Peeta was bound to lead to true feelings. But in the beginning, I _was_ pretending. I was forcing myself to play along.

His feelings might have been genuine from the start, but mine weren't. I thought of the genuine love I felt for Gale before our worlds were turned upside down, and thought, _that's_ what Peeta deserves. And surely, there was someone out there who could give him that—not what I have to offer—a forced but eventually genuine love while suppressing real love for someone else. It's not an equal offering. And it's not fair to Peeta.

Yes, Gale was gone, and on paper, I was free to be with Peeta with no remorse. But Peeta deserved better. He deserved to win me, not by default, but because my love was equal to his.

And then I laughed to myself, realizing that maybe Peeta didn't really love me any more anyway. After his torture and confusion, I doubted if he was feeling the same as he had as an innocent young boy. All of us had changed, and Peeta possibly the most.

I fell asleep trying to remember our lives before the reaping, trying to find my true self before I became a thick-skinned murderer, and finally found myself only thinking of the one thing that gave me happiness then: Gale.


	3. Chapter 3

Haymitch was asked to return to the Capitol temporarily. They were sorting out the new government, investigating past crimes, trying those responsible. Haymitch had knowledge that would be helpful. I wondered if I did, and was grateful finally, that I'd been kept in the dark for much of the time. I didn't want to go back and re-live the past.

My mother returned to District 12 when our new hospital opened. She and a doctor from 13 were going to run it. Finally, Prim, my mother, and I were all home again, and we settled into a peaceful life together.

Peeta and I still worked in town with the reconstruction efforts. We had started to rebuild the bakery, and found ourselves alone inside one evening after other workers had gone home. He sat on a stack of cement bags and looked around. A wave of sadness passed over his face.

"Do you still have nightmares?" he asked.

"Yes, sometimes. But not as much as I used to." Now they included ones about Gale begging me to shoot him.

"I guess I'm finally grieving for my family," he said. "There wasn't room for it before. Now I dream about them—about what it must have been like." The firebombing.

"I'm sorry," I said, knowing it sounded ridiculously inadequate.

"I used to hold you when you had nightmares. Real or not real?" he asked.

"Real," I said.

He looked a little guilty and said, "I don't think I can now. I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"I'm not sure I'll ever fully trust myself with you again—I mean trust that I won't hurt you again. In the night when I wake up is when I'm the most confused."

I thought of the pain I'd felt when he'd strangled me, and the shock of it. I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to completely trust him either and so I said nothing.

"I feel like I let you down, Katniss. I took something away from you. I wanted to always be there for you—to take care of you. And now, I'm still so lost in some ways. I know that I loved you, but I don't know if I'll ever really _feel_ it again. Does that make sense?"

I sat beside him and took his hand in mine, looking into his eyes. "You haven't let me down, Peeta. You're still my friend, and we do still love each other, even if it's not in the same way. And it's okay."

He leaned forward and gently kissed me on the lips. It was the first time he'd shown any kind of physical affection since he'd been hijacked—really stolen from me.

It was a sweet kiss, but not a lover's kiss. When he pulled back, we both smiled.

"It is okay," he said. "Right?"

"Yes."

"I've been trying so hard to get back to where we were, but I can't."

"I know. Neither can I. We've both been changed, and now we have a new life. This time, _we _get to decide how we feel—what we are to each other. No one else."

"And will this be enough? I mean, if this is all it ever is?"

I felt a wave of relief and said, honestly, "Yes, Peeta. This is more than enough. We're friends. Real friends. With a bond that can never be broken—even after all that's happened."

He looked as relieved as I was and he put his arms around me, squeezing me softly.

I fell asleep that night, finally resolved that Peeta and I had come to the best place possible. It felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders and I hoped he had the same feeling. He was my friend, and I'd still die for him, but the pressure we had felt to be star-crossed lovers for the world to see was gone, and what was left was the kind of love that family members felt for one another. We had secured an unbreakable bond that no one could ever change again.

Several weeks later, Haymitch returned. He joined us again on our daily trips to town to work. We all had dinner together every night—my mother, Prim, Peeta, Haymitch and I. I noticed him watching Peeta and me one night at the table, and afterwards, he asked me to walk him home.

When we got to his door, he stopped and turned to me, saying, "You and Peeta …."

I waited for him to finish, but when he didn't, I just said, "We're good. He's doing fine. Feeling better, I think."

"Have you talked about … things?"

"Yeah. You mean about us? About what we used to be?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, we've talked about it. It's not the same." I wondered how much I should say. It seemed private, but then, before, Haymitch knew everything. The whole world did, actually. There was nothing private about our relationship before.

"And you're okay? Both of you?"

"Oh yes, we're both good. We still love each other, but the star-crossed lover thing is gone. We love each other like family. It's good. Really."

His brow furrowed.

"What is it, Haymitch?"

"I thought you loved him," he said. I started to correct him—to reiterate that I did love him when he added, "Like a lover. Like a husband."

"No."

This seemed to bother him, and I wasn't sure why. None of us needed to convince the world any more. Why should he care?

I continued, "I know you once said I could do a lot worse, and you were right. I do love him, but we've both decided this is how we feel now. We're just friends. But close friends. You understand?"

"Yes," he said. "I think I do." He looked away as if thinking about something and then looked back at me. "I need to break a confidence."

"Okay." I had no idea what we were talking about any more.

"I was told to keep something from you."

Well, that wasn't news. I was never really in the loop where Haymitch was concerned. But I really had no interest in anything Haymitch might know—anything about the Games or about the rebellion or the new government. I was done with all that.

"It's okay, Haymitch. You don't have to tell me."

"I think I do." He looked very serious and I started to worry. Maybe it was something I needed to know after all.

"Just say it," I said, and braced myself for something painful.

He placed his hands on my arms as if he knew I'd need to be held up and I felt my heart start to race.

"Gale's alive."

And my knees gave way.


	4. Chapter 4

Everyone offered to go with me to the Capitol—Haymitch, Peeta, Prim, and my mother. I opted to go alone. I was on the first train that left the following morning.

Gale was alive. The thought consumed me. And the train couldn't seem to move fast enough.

Haymitch had told me that Gale had asked him not to reveal his whereabouts, but of course, I got that information out of him easily once I'd made my feelings clear.

Gale had been presumed dead at first, right after the takeover of the Capitol. He had suffered a head wound that had kept him in a coma for a over a month and the wounds on his face made it impossible for anyone to identify him. So, at first, no one at the hospital knew who he was. (We wore no dog tags in our unit because our identities would have made us targets for "special" torture if captured.)

Once they'd brought him out of his coma—artificially induced while his brain injury healed, he asked that I not be told that he had survived. His mother and siblings were moved from District 13 to the Capitol to be near him while he healed, so they hadn't returned to 12, and I had mourned Gale's death alone back home.

I was furious that he had allowed me to think he was dead, but I understood why. It was the same reason Peeta had given me the locket with Gale's picture in it. Both of the men I'd loved knew I'd also loved another, and both had wanted me to be happy, thinking I'd choose the other if I could. How did I get so lucky to have two such selfless men in my life? One of which I wanted to throttle at the moment.

As angry as I was, I also knew that in an odd way, it was a good thing that I hadn't known about Gale. Well, good wasn't exactly the right word, but it had given me time to really work out my feelings for Peeta. With Gale gone and no hope of ever having him again in my life, I was free to finally make a decision. And I had. For the first time since the reaping, my decisions were all my own. And I chose Gale. Even knowing he was dead. For the first time ever, I really understood how I felt about him. I loved him. The way a woman should love a man. It was finally clear to me.

But would he accept me now? I was so damaged emotionally. I was a murderer, a liar, a manipulator. I'd used Peeta's love to keep us both alive and had lied to the whole nation about it. I'd put Peeta before Gale so many times for so many reasons. Would Gale ever really be able to forgive me? Would he rather find someone new to start a life with now that the war was behind us? Someone undamaged. Or at least someone kindhearted, like Peeta. Maybe he already had. Maybe that was another reason Haymitch had hesitated when he told me. Maybe he'd kept that little tidbit to himself, for me to discover on my own.

As soon as the train pulled into the station, I was out the door and on my way to the hospital. It was only about a half a mile from the station, but it seemed to take forever for me to walk—and then finally, run there.

I stopped at the front desk to get his room number and then took to the stairs up to his room. I slowed my pace down when I entered the corridor, aware of my panting and panic among the quiet doctors and nurses going about their jobs.

I counted the room numbers until I came to his and stopped to take a deep breath, my heart pounding in my chest. I removed my backpack and held it in my hand, and smoothed back my hair. I planted a smile on my face and stepped inside, ready to face him.

Of course my resolve to act reasonable crumbled as soon as I saw him. He was lying in bed, his hair short and choppy on his head, presumably where it had been shaved in spots. A dark jagged scar came across the top of his head, over his forehead, and across the bridge of his nose, ending mid cheekbone. His neck was a mass of pink and red, still healing from the deep bite of the sewer mutt.

When he looked at me, I dropped my backpack and ran the last few steps to his bed. I climbed up and threw myself onto him, mindless of the tubes, and wept loudly into his chest.

His arms enveloped me and I gratefully breathed his scent with every sob. This went on for some time until I became aware of his kissing the top of my head and saying, "Shhhh. It's okay," over and over.

I finally calmed down a little and raised my head to look at his face. Even with the dark wound across his face, he'd never looked more beautiful to me. He smiled and kissed me hard, and I reached a hand up to wipe the tears from the side of his face where they had run down and dampened the oddly cropped hair at his temple.

We pressed our lips together, both still crying, for a long moment.

I broke the kiss and sat up a little, taking his tube-free hand in mine and kissing it while I continued to wipe his tears away.

"So, I guess you missed me," he said and we both laughed a little as we still cried and I just nodded.

Then we just looked at each other for a long silent moment, finally able to stop the tears and take each other in.

I gently traced the scar on his head and face with my finger and he said, "Not so pretty anymore, am I?"

"You are to me," I said. "Does it hurt?"

"Not too much. Sometimes. I'm off the morphling, so yeah, sometimes it hurts. But I'll recover. It gets easier every day now."

I just shook my head and said, "How could you have kept this from me?"

His eyes teared again and he bit his lower lip to keep it from trembling before he answered. "I knew you'd come. And I knew you'd be here for me because I was in pain. You always loved me when I was in pain, and that's not what I wanted."

A tear ran down my cheek as I said, "You thought I loved you when you were in pain. You should have seen me when you were dead."

That made him smile, but then it faltered. "I'm sorry. I guess I didn't think about what I'd be putting you through. I knew eventually, you'd hear about it—that I was alive if not a bit banged up, but I hoped it would give you and Peeta the time to …." His voice trailed off.

"It did," I said. "You did give us that."

He nodded solemnly.

I went on, "As angry as I am that you didn't tell me, in a strange way, you were right. Peeta and I did finally have the time we needed to sort out what we had—without the Games or the crowds to please. We've been back home, working together to put 12 back in working order. We've had time to heal too, just like you have.

"I grieved your loss and thought I couldn't go on, but I did. Like people always do. Like both our mothers did after our fathers died.

"And now Peeta and I both understand that what we had—what developed from his innocent boyhood crush, and turned into a desperate warped kind of love for the world to see-has finally settled into a kind of bond of friendship. Now that we know we'll both survive without it, we've found a way to let it rest between us while we can go on and find our own separate lives."

He searched my eyes, as if he might determine whether I was telling him the truth. "Are you sure? Both of you?"

"Yes, we're both sure."

A kind of relief passed over his features and he let out a silent sigh.

"You're the one I've always loved in my heart," I said.

He bit his lip again and a small sob escaped as he nodded.

"That love wasn't for the cameras, or to save anybody's life. It was just what I felt. What I really felt. What I still feel."

He pulled me to him and crushed my mouth with his. I still held his other hand between us and squeezed it tightly.

When I pulled back, I touched his mouth with my finger, still in awe that he was here, alive, and that I could touch him.

"I know without a doubt what I want," I said. "Now the rest is up to you. What is it you want?"

He smiled and said, "I'm ready to go home. Take me home, Catnip."

And so I did.


	5. Chapter 5

I stop at the hospital to see my mother and pick up some vitamins. She'd already heard about the new name for District 12, of course. She wasn't born an Everdeen, like I was, but she chose it when she married my father, so it was her name too. And now, it's the name of our home. Everdeen, the Twelfth District of the United Districts Republic.

As I walk through town, people stop to shake my hand and congratulate me, even though the name wasn't my idea. I'm just glad they seem pleased. Our town has come a long way since the firebombing.

Most of the businesses have been rebuilt and reopened, along with some new ones. Many families are original, and many are new, and we all make up our tight little community.

The mines have reopened, but now people work there because it's their choice, not because it's forced on them.

I'm no longer our most famous citizen, of course. Ever since the first time Peeta was elected to represent our district, he's been our golden boy. And now, he's our president.

He lives in the Capitol even though he still keeps his house in Victor's Village. Prim stays with him now that she's attending medical school in the city—with him and Delly and their daughter.

It made such perfect sense when he and Delly Cartwright fell in love. She was the one who first brought him back to us after the hijacking. They had known each other all their lives, were so alike in many ways, not the least of which was their uncommon kindness. Their pure and genuine hearts. They were the nicest people I'd ever known, so they fit together perfectly.

On her sixth birthday, I gave their daughter a pearl necklace. Peeta knew where the pearl came from. I had kept it all that time, and thought it fitting that I should pass it along to his sweet girl.

I kept the locket, and still wear it. My mother and Prim on one side, and Gale on the other.

I stop in our restaurant that we opened with Gale's family. Greasy Sae is in the kitchen.

"Is he here?" I ask, but she shakes her head and goes back to her stew.

I continue along the street, passing Gale's family home that we rebuilt much bigger, and come to my mother's—also lovely in its newness.

There are few buildings in this town that weren't greatly improved when we rebuilt, and now of course, we've grown even bigger as a town.

When I come to Victor's Village, I wave at Haymitch on his front porch. He calls out, "I heard from Finnick. They're expecting again."

I shake my head and smile. This will be their fourth.

I pass by the rose bushes that line the front of our house. I take a deep breath. Peeta was right. Now the scent just reminds me of him.

I call out to Gale as I come in the front door. "I'm home."

"In the kitchen," he answers.

I step into the room and he stops what he's doing and takes me in his arms, kissing me sweetly.

When he breaks the kiss, I look around and notice he's got two backpacks on the table and is putting food together for them.

"Are we going to the lake?" I ask.

"Yeah, I thought we might," he answers. "How does that sound?"

"Great," I say. We spend a lot of our weekends at the tiny lake house. We've never owned it, of course, but have fixed it up over the years and use it as a little hideaway. Much of the town, I'm sure, remembers it as the place to which Gale led them in order to save their lives. Those same people elected Gale mayor of the town and I'm quite certain would never deny him an occasional weekend there.

"We going to hunt?" I ask.

"Why not?" He pulls our bows and arrows from the closet by the back door. We still have some hidden in the woods, but don't use them anymore.

"Did you get the vitamins?" he asks.

I remove the bottle from the bag in my hand and he reads the label before putting them into a pack.

"Prenatal." Then he gives my stomach a little pat.

In the world before, it wasn't a possibility that I'd become a mother. But now, life is different. Both of us were happy when we found out I was pregnant. Ecstatic. Both of us were ecstatic.

"Why don't you grab our books?" he suggests.

I climb the stairs and retrieve both our journals from our nightstands.

I never thought we'd be writers, but we both found it helped with the nightmares at first. Then, we decided it was good to write it all down for other reasons as well. I read somewhere once that if people aren't reminded of their mistakes, then they're doomed to repeat them. Ironically, this philosophy was the impetus for creating the Hunger Games. But now, it means—to us, at least—that nothing so cruel will ever take place again.

Gale and I are committed, as are many, never to repeat what happened before the war.

So, we both write it all down. Gale writes what it felt like—the burning desire to fight for a new life—to fight oppression. He details the minutia of the war—the tactics, the battles, the behind-the-scenes decisions. It's not a rosy story. It's dark and awful and true. Every word.

I write what happened to me. We're not sure what we'll do with it all when we've finished, but for now, we just know we have to write. And so we do.

I bring the books into the kitchen and he puts them in our packs. I lock the back door and we sling the packs onto our backs with our bows and head out the front door.

Once we get to the meadow, he takes my hand and we quicken our pace, eager to get to the woods.

"Let me know of you need to rest," he says.

"I'm good, but I will. I promise."

As we enter the woods, I say, "I think I've decided on a name for my book."

"Oh good."

"I think I'll just call it 'The Hunger Games.'"

"Sounds right," he says. He pulls my hand to his lips and kisses it.

"Feels right," I say.

He nods and answers, smiling down at me, "Yes, it does."

And we head for the lake.

XXX

**A/N: Thank you so much to my wonderful SVM friends who followed me along this new journey. And thank you to my new Hunger Games friends who were kind enough to give a newbie a chance and read, review, alert, and favorite. I'm so happy to find more Gale lovers here and look forward to reading some of the stories you've written as well.**

**I don't have any immediate plans to write more with these characters, but I often say that and then find myself continuing along anyway. Those of you who know me, know it's sometimes hard for me to find my off switch once I start a storyline. If you think I should go on, don't be shy-please let me know. I take requests, and I'd love an excuse to have a little heart to heart with Gale. **

**Update: As I suspected would happen, I wrote Gale's POV and posted it. I'm just calling it "Gale." I hope you like it.**


End file.
